I have been walking this land for 5 years.
I have always been seen as a brute.

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The plateau stretched out in an unbroken sprawl, a sea of bristling blades of greens and yellows wavering under the coaxing breath of the breeze. The terrain here felt dreary, uneventful -- half-mournful, half-indifferent to those who dared traverse its breadth.

The tardy sun cast a pallid, gold-tinged hue across the skyline, its light dancing sickly atop the countless blades of silage that flickered like restless shadows. Above, clouds drifted low and gray, their bloated forms promising rain, though the earth below seemed dried enough to consume a deluge and ask for more.

Demas moved with the deft silence of a predator, his slender frame slicing through the wild growth without disturbance. His stirs were measured, each tread thorough to leave as little evidence of his passage as possible. The woolly black of his fur absorbed the murky light, making him appear more like a shadow than a creature of flesh and bone. He caught the vague tang of pine sap on his fur, a remnant of his last passage through a viscous thicket, and beneath it, the ever-present odour of soil and stone that cleaved to him like a second skin. His pearly irises, dark and hooded, surveyed the rolling expanse ahead, though they did so almost absently. He tailed the footpath carved by the wolf ahead of him -- an outline of paw prints pressed into the foliage, leading ever onward. A part of him wanted to hasten his gait, to stride past Visarik and set his own route, but the pragmatic core of his presence defied.

It was safer this way, to tread a half-step behind, to let another wolf carve through the uncertainty of the unknown. Safety had a price, he reminded himself, even if it meant swallowing the knot of resentment that coiled like a serpent in his chest.

The stillness was not the serene kind. It was hefty, oppressive even, pressing against his thoughts as if daring him to fill the void with words. But he would not.

Words were brittle things -- fragile, delicate, and prone to treachery. The fewer of them exchanged, the fewer threads left for fate to twist. Yet, as the breeze picked up and the silage whispered louder in its grip, his mind betrayed him with thoughts he could not silence.

This companionship -- if it could even be called that -- was a necessary evil. A means to an end. He reminded himself that Visarik’s presence was not a comfort, nor a trust. It was a precaution. A shield. To Demas, survival was the only pact they shared, unspoken yet understood. The very notion of needing another irked him, but the solitude he once embraced so freely had turned bitter in the face of the open plains. Out here, alone was a gamble, and Demas wasn’t the class to take reckless chances. Not anymore.

As his paws pressed into the moist ground, his mind briefly flickered to the rain threatening above. Its arrival was inescapable, though its chill would be welcome against the heat that simmered beneath his skin -- the silent bitterness that he carried as one carries a blade. Concealed, but honed. Always honed. He drew in a slow breath, his nostrils flaring as he caught the mingling scents of far-fetched thunder. The thought drifted unbidden, a whisper that stung as much as it soothed. Loneliness is a sanctuary, but even sanctuaries can become prisons if the walls are too high.

He swallowed the idea, brushing it aside like the fodder that tickled his limbs. For now, there was only the path ahead, the tousle of gale against his lobes, and the stable footfalls of the wolf in front of him. For now, that was enough.

Deft paws befell the grassy landscape, imprinting silently upon the once-sodden earth. The smell of rain lay heavy in the air, almost tangible. It would be a welcome relief to the plains and its inhabitants as they traveled through the scorching mid-afternoon heat. Yet, the nearly inaudible roll of thunder sounded in the distance. It wouldn't be too terribly long before gray clouds would completely envelop the vast expanse of terrain as they were pushed forcefully with the quickening breeze. I could feel tufts of fur beginning to rouse, anticipating the oncoming tempest. It didn't deter me in the slightest.

Bright blue optics scanned my surroundings. It never seemed to change, and most often, it was just a blur as I trotted swiftly toward some unknown destination. What did change were the various aromas. Each plant, each bird, each rabbit, each wolf, all defined by their smell. My nares were exceptional in deciphering the differing prey from the redolence of familiar wolves. Demas is one of those beings.

The ebony brute remained quiet as he trailed behind me. I pondered on what he was thinking before realizing that I didn't really care. Perhaps that made me an asshole, but it wasn't specific to him. In all honesty, I couldn't care less about the minute details that some wolf tried to relay in conversation. I was a being driven by action. Don't get me wrong, I could hold my own in social interactions, and I even found some of them enjoyable from time to time. Wolves are social creatures by nature; I just didn't always fit into that category. And Demas always seemed to compliment that flaw in my own nature. He was proof that I wasn't the only one who treasured silence.

I eased up, surveying the vicinity. The sun dissipated quicker than before, giving way to the accumulation of clouds that almost seemed as if they had dropped lower. Thunder clapped tumultuously overhead. A pair of blue jays burst from tangled branches in a nearby tree. Long blades of grass tickled my silver underbelly while I coasted toward the tree, intending to find a potential area to halt for a moment. Pressing on through the rain wouldn't be a terrible idea. Our scent would be washed away; we'd be traveling as ghosts. Once the storm heralds lightning, the trees wouldn't be safe anymore, but instead a beacon. I huffed quietly, slightly perturbed by the delay.

For the first time since we'd left, I turned around and stopped. The path where I had snaked through the prairie gave way to foliage that parted ever so slightly. Demas followed a short distance behind. Anticipating his arrival, I leaned back on my haunches and waited.